Feel the Earth Move
by Meg Moore
Summary: 'If this is it, if this is how and when the world is going to end, she can think of *much* worse ways to go...' A fluffy, smutty fill for a tumblr prompt, in honor of Castle Fanfic Monday. Set anytime in season 8.


The whole thing is ludicrous, really. Like something straight out of a book.

One of _his_ books, to be precise.

But this isn't one of his books, and this isn't fiction, and the rhythmic swaying of their bed is only due in part to their current activities. They've made the earth move for each other plenty of times, but right now it's moving completely of its own accord.

* * *

The morning dawns quiet and unremarkable, not unlike so many others that came before. The faintest tendrils of pearly gray morning light are just beginning to break through the curtains, but there's no strength to them yet; just the gentlest of nudges toward consciousness before Kate's alarm sounds.

They steadily migrate toward each other in the middle of the bed, their limbs heavy and slow, lazy with the sleep that still clings to them. Castle rolls and opens his arms to her, gathering her close and burying his nose in the soft, slightly-frizzed hair at her temple, inhaling the dreamy, drowsy scent of his wife. She nuzzles her nose and presses her lips to the warm, muscular angle where his neck and shoulder meet, an arm and a leg wrapped around him as she presses her front snugly to his. Their bodies shift together and hum with shared warmth and contented sighs.

Later, they could debate who made the first move, but it's a contest neither cares about winning. Their touches inevitably turn suggestive, enflaming, on the same page as always. She quickly shucks her shirt and helps him to do the same, both stripped to just their underwear as their mouths fuse and they kiss each other deeply, languidly, their hands roaming, exploring unhindered wherever they find more touchable bare skin.

Kate's notorious impatience takes over as she quite literally takes matters into her own hands, licking and nipping and kissing her way down her husband's body, his frame shuddering and shivering under her teasing touch. He wordlessly shifts his hips for her when she reaches his boxers and that last barrier is gone in the next heartbeat, her warm hands and her hot mouth suddenly wrapped tightly around his thickening shaft.

 _Ooooh Kate_ is all he can manage to enunciate before he becomes incoherent, his wife's talented tongue reducing him to simple grunts and gasps of pleasure. She's wonderfully wicked, inventive in the very best ways, and she knows unfailingly how to make him writhe, make him crazy, make him fall in love her all over again. Every moment is a struggle against his body's baser instinct to thrust his hips and bury his cock in her throat.

It swiftly becomes too much, the exquisite warmth and wetness of her mouth pulling him deeper with every slow, sultry suck. When he feels her begin to swallow around the pulsing head, he threads his hands into her hair, gently pulling her away and whispering, "You have _got_ to stop that or this is going to be over prematurely..."

She grins up at him with swollen, shiny lips but doesn't fight his direction, returning to sip at his mouth as they work together to tug her underwear off _right this instant_. He needs a minute or two to pull himself back from the brink and regain some control, using his hands to distract her instead, palming one breast roughly, the other sliding between her thighs. He hisses into her neck when he feels how hot and slick and _so fucking ready_ she is for him.

"Oh God, Kate. Do know what that does to me, knowing how turned on you get when you go down on me?"

She smiles against his cheekbone; he loves talking to her in bed, so aware of the effect the timbre of his voice and the right words can have on her, and she doesn't shy away from giving it right back.

"And do you know how much I love doing that to you? I love how you taste, how you smell. I love the sounds you make when you're fucking my mouth." She cups his cheek and whispers those last few words directly into his lips, feeling more than hearing the sharp intake of his breath against her flushed skin, but she's not done yet. "I love it when you come on my tongue…"

He groans and she gasps when two thick fingers delve into her in retaliation for her sinful words, drawing out her arousal to stroke over her clit in tight, slippery little circles that have her squirming and moaning uncontrollably in no time.

 _Oh oh oh…_ she stutters breathlessly, her damp lips hanging open, her nails digging into his broad shoulders while she rides his hand shamelessly, her hips gyrating in time to the smooth back and forth motion of his fingers over her nerves as he drives her up up _up_. He touches her so perfectly, with such confidence, and she can only hold on as she shudders with the force of her orgasm, furiously blazing out from her center until her fingers and toes and the crown of her head tingle with it.

She slowly blinks the whited-out edges of her vision away, his face close and his smile so radiant as he withdraws his fingers from between her legs and promptly slides them into his mouth. His eyes fall shut on a positively filthy moan, the taste of her arousal tart on his tongue, and _fuck_ if that doesn't completely do it for her. He needs to take her. He needs to _fuck_ her. _Now_.

Shifting wordlessly, his body rolls atop her to press her into the mattress with his weight, the pressure pleasing against the delicious throb in her core but still not nearly enough. She spreads her legs wide and wraps them about his thighs, breathily urging him to _please_ fuck her, _now, oh God now, please._ Their desperation is palpable, their lips fusing once again, his length sliding slippery through her folds, the thick head nudging at her clit with each pass. Her pelvis surges forward instinctively, seeking _more_ from him, and he needs no further prompting to drive himself deep, her body welcoming him home.

They set a steady, punishing rhythm, him pushing hard and her hips rising to meet him each time, their bodies already slick with exertion. She's on fire, his mouth and his hands and his cock stroking deep within, working in tandem to set her ablaze, and she's mindless with it, their bodies instinctually rocking together in time.

The bed is moving, his firm thrusts into her willing body setting the entire frame into motion, but…but something's off, and they both know it. The sway of the mattress is slightly out-of-sync with their movements, and it's _just_ enough to alert them that right now, the entire _world_ is rocking and swaying around them as well.

Her phone goes skittering off the edge of her nightstand just as the pen and notebook that Castle keeps on his side clatter to the floor. They can hear the slight scrape of the furniture against the wood, picture frames tumbling over and books teetering off the shelves in the periphery, but they don't slow and they don't stop for any of it.

Her fingers wind into his damp hair, grasping at the strands, clinging tight and urging him to ride her harder, faster, because if this is it, if this is how and when the world is going to end, she can think of _much_ worse ways to go. A toe-curling orgasm (or two…or three), while her husband bites her name out against her throat when he finds his own pleasure deep inside her? Yes, please.

His movements are becoming more erratic now, and he has to slow down to regain control again. One hand clutches her shoulder as the other slides under her tailbone, angling her hips upward, sliding deep and grinding hard against her. His shaft glides against her clit with each downward thrust now, and it only takes a few more rough, perfectly-placed drives of his body into hers to send her headlong into her orgasm.

Her head tilts back, her mouth hanging open once more and her eyes screwed shut as it ignites at her center and ripples outward, waves of it crashing over her, the roar of it in her ears and a fireworks display projected onto her closed eyelids. He knows her _so_ well though, knows to keep a steady rhythm, to continue fucking her _hard_ through one orgasm and straight into the next, and he doesn't disappoint. His hips meet hers continuously, the perfect cadence, her steadily increasing litany of _oh my Gods_ and nonsensical, affirmative murmurs spurring him on, and before she knows which way is up, she's flying, soaring high again.

The walls could be crumbling around them, but honestly. Who would care?

He loses himself in her then, unwilling and maybe unable to resist the call of her body anymore. Her inner walls clutch and squeeze at him, a velveteen vise, begging for his release and he lets go, waves of ecstasy and rightness moving from his shuddering frame to hers, and then back again. He surges into her over and over, his gratitude and love pouring out, sending his prayer of _oh fuck, Kate_ skyward

They finally slow and stop, panting and dripping sweat, foreheads resting together as their eyes blink open and take in each other's flushed, completely-mussed, thoroughly-fucked appearance. There's perfect stillness for a few moments, their bodies still tangled and connected, their lips sharing sweet, lingering kisses that bely the intensity of the act that preceded them. They listen for any evidence of Mother Nature's continued mayhem, but the loft is silent now. The only things to be heard are their quieting breaths and slowing heartbeats.

Castle nuzzles into her perspiration-slicked neck, his lips against her pulse when he speaks at last. "Wow."

"I know."

"No, but seriously, Beckett…"

"I _know_."

He rises up to look at her again, taking in all of the glowing post-coital glory that she's certain is radiating from her right now and gently tucking a few damp, wayward strands of hair behind her ears.

"Beckett. The earth moved. Literally."

She dissolves into a fit of laughter hearing it put into words, and he laughs with her, her delight so infectious, the tinkling notes of their combined joy sweeter than the musical offerings of that morning's songbirds, chirping outside their windows now.

He drops a longer-than-necessary kiss to her lips when they regain control, having finally caught his breath enough to ask, "Shall we go inspect the damage?"

"In a minute." She smudges her mouth against his, warm and inviting, trapping his body against hers with strong arms and mile-long legs…as if he needed any convincing to stay right where he was.

"In a minute," he murmurs back to her lips.

Of course, the alarm on her phone chooses that moment to go off. It's somewhere in the pile of clothing and what-not and God-only-knows that litters the floor now after that quake, but neither makes a move for it, choosing instead to devote their complete attention to thoroughly kissing the other senseless.

A minute ends up turning into ten.

* * *

 _An anonymous prompt from the Castle Fanfic Prompts page, written for Castle Fanfic Monday: Based on "Frozen Heat" they're having sex when an earthquake happens in the middle._

 _I hope I did it justice for you, Anon. As always, if you feel so inclined, I'd love to hear your thoughts._

 _Thanks to Morgan for the lightning-fast beta, and Maribea for the spontaneous pompoms. You're both a couple of quality human beings._


End file.
